“I’m sure he does dream of a BBA career, but we both know that he is going to be a very small fish in a very large pond with no guarantee he won’t get swallowed up by a better outfielder who is not so long in the tooth. The Sharks are offering your client an extra two years, worth north of ten million and he’ll start every day.”
Sharks GM Chuck Valenches listened on the cube through his earpiece, the corners of his mouth turning ever further downward.
“You know I have a cap I can’t cross. This is what we can do. Quit being a dick, Angus. You man did not even have a job in Spring Training until we pulled him off the trash heap and gave him a uniform. This is the budget I am working with and if you don’t like the offer than I have other calls to make. The offer is off the table Wednesday. If he doesn’t agree then, the Sharks move on and find another overvalued prima donna who’s bat is not as quick as it once was. Let me know. Wednesday.”
Valenches pulled the earpiece out of his ear and stared at the cube for a moment. Then he picked up the cube and threw it as hard against the wall as he possibly could, shattering it into a million pieces. Some of the shards landed on his desk and he calmly used a note card to sweep them into the waste basket.
He pressed a button on the land line phone, which, as it was the only functioning communication device left in the office, could probably just be called ‘phone’. “Suzy? Could you come in here please?”
The Admin, Susan Falmour, came through the door a few seconds later. A no nonsense woman in her fifties. She seemed to have missed the memo about all the sun and fun in Australia and instead dressed like Australia was still a prison colony. “Yes sir?”
“Suze? My cube fell ofF the desk again. Could you…”
“Again?” said Susan, eyeing the scattering of Cube shards on the floor and the Cube size indentation on the wall left by the formerly intact Cube. “Sir, this is the fourth Cube that has fallen off your desk in the last two months. Maybe we should invest in a new desk instead?”
“Have one of the interns go down to the Optus store and get me a new one. You have my card number, right?”
“Yes sir. I will send Jeremy there at lunch” She turned to walk back out top her office but stopped at the door. “Anything else sir? Coffee? Rubber padding on the wall? Maybe a Roomba to follow you around for your Cube Calls?”
“Just send the intern. If he doesn’t screw it up, maybe I’ll give him your job. And call Derek and tell him I want to see him” Susan walked out with a huff and Chuck allowed himself a little smile. Susan Falmour was not going anywhere. She knew where everything was. Did her job more than adequately and more importantly, deflected reporters phone calls with an expertise he found jaw dropping. Her talents were obvious even though he had only been there for a couple of months.
Derek Morgan. The Assistant General Manager of the Sydney Sharks walked in a moment later. “What’s up?” the still fit former player said.
“Spoke to Wasim Ala’s agent just a bit ago and as you can see”, said Valenches, waving his arm towards the broken shards of the Cube on the floor, “the call did not go well. That jack-hole agent of his seems to think that Wasim Ala’ is God’s gift to the fucking sport and that BBA teams will be lining up like it’s the new Star Wars movie opening night and he is playing Luke Skywalker." Morgan looked at him quizzically and it took Chuck a beat to realize his mistake. "Star Wars. It’s an old movie from about 80 years ago, they made like 15 of them. Changed movie history…never mind. The point is that Ala’ will most likely not be signing an extension with us for next year so we are about to lose the leading home run hitter in the GBC because his agent has filled his head with ideas of BBA grandeur.”
“That’s just the way the world is”, said Morgan. “We get the crumbs and reclamation projects discarded by the Brewster Baseball Association and there is not much we can do about it. Their salary cap is about three times the size of ours and the prestige the BBA has far outstrips the GBC. If players feel like they have a shot at the big leagues, they will drop us like a bad habit and sign there, even if it is less money.”
Valenches spun his chair around facing the window and overlooking the field. “Get a message to that fucking numb nuts manager of ours. Tell him to play Ala’ every fucking day and every fucking inning. Tell him to fine his ass for everything he can think of. Missed belt loop, two seconds late for stretch, you name it. Tell him to really get in his wallet.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. ”Nah. Scrap that. I’m not going to punish the guy for chasing his dream. Besides, Der would just fuck it up anyways. We’re paying that guy 1.2 million a year so we can finish 7th? This is the last year of his contract, right?
“Yep.”
“Have we offered him an extension?”
“We started talks before the season and he wants 1.4 million per on a two-year extension.”
“Fuck him.”
“We told him we would talk it over.”
“Same thing.” Chuck picked up the roster report and the injury report. “Our IR is starting to look damn pathetic. More talent on it than off it. What the hell is going on?”
Morgan took his Cube out and called up an injury report, projecting it on the wall. “We won’t see any of these guys back this year and four of them have expiring contracts. Robert tore his labrum and will be lucky to pitch next year, if at all.”
“I agree about Roberts. He has good stuff and I’d re-sign him on a heavy incentive laden contract, but he has always been injury prone. Have we reached out to all their agents about an extension? We might catch a break and sign them to ‘prove it’ contracts.”
“Only one call needed actually. They all have the same agent, Luke Milligan represents, Robert, Lojdahl, Adjeng, Collingridge and Duckering all have Luke Milligan repping them.”
“So our entire Injured List is Milligan clients?”
“Looks that way.”
“Have they all been offered extensions? What has been the response?”
“The only one we have not offered is Collingridge because he is still under our control, but the others all want to test free agency or have outrageous demands to re-sign.”
Valenches tapped his pen on the desk muttering to himself. Just then, the intern came in with a vacuum cleaner. “Is this a good time?” he asked nervously.
“Yeah, it’s fine. We were just about to leave.” Valenches got out from behind his desk and stopped near the intern. “Jeremy, right?”
“Yes sir.”
“How long have you been here now Jeremy?”
“I started in the spring, I’m in my last year at school and I hope I can learn enough here to get a job in the GBC somewhere next year.”
“The GBC is a good place to learn Jeremy. Keep it up.” Chuck started to turn away but stopped to pick up the injured list report from his desk. “Jeremy, have you seen our trainer today?”
Jeremy finished plugging in the vacuum and turned towards the Shark’s GM. “Do you mean Mr. Robles?”
“Yes, Mr…wait. Does he make you call him Mr. Robles?”
“Yes sir. He says he’s earned the title.”
Valenches shook his head. “So where is MISTER Robles?”
“He went out to lunch earlier. He and Mr. Milligan left around noon”
“Luke Milligan?”
“Yes sir. He tells me to call him Luke, but he is around in the clubhouse quite a bit talking to his clients.”
“And now he is out to lunch with Juan Robles, our trainer?”
“Yessir”
“Okay Jeremy. Thank you. Finish this up later.”
“Yes sir. And sir?” said Jeremy. Valenches turned towards the young intern.
“Everybody has different ways they want to be addressed. Should I call you Chuck?”
“No.”
“Yes sir.“ The chagrined intern turned and practically sprinted out the door.
As soon as he was gone, Chuck turned towards his Assistant GM, teeth gritted and eye twitching. All inflection had left his voice and it was eerily calm. “That rat fuck. That little motherfucker is having his players land on the IL and he’s got MY trainer helping him do it.”
“But why?” said Morgan who was now going over the injury reports in detail. “Injuries will only hurt their free agent value and cost them money!”
“They only hurt their value if they are looking for another contract. These guys are not looking. Luke Milligan already has deals in place for these five guys, maybe more for next season. He also represents Wasim Ala’, who has already declared he wants to test out free agency next year.” Chuck stared at the celling, his mind already working out the possibilities. “We have to nip this in the bud. Expose them.” He turned and poked his finger in Derek’s face. “Get me a list of all of Luke Milligan’s clients. Not just the ones on our team, but every client he has. I don’t care if he reps somebody in the top Miniature Golf League in Tasmania. I want a name and a contact number that is NOT Luke Milligan’s. And have that intern Jeremy work here in the office for now. I don’t want him spilling his guts in the clubhouse.”
Morgan had been taking notes, but stopped. “Why don’t we suss out Jeremy some more, see where his loyalties lie. Maybe we can use him as our eyes and ears down there?”
Valenches nodded. “Okay. Take the kid to lunch. Get him laid, buy him a video game. I don’t know what kids want now. See if he can handle it. Let’s take a walk down to the clubhouse. I want to see if anything else looks completely screwed.
Valenches and Morgan began walking out of the reception area but were stopped by Suzanne. “Sir? You have a call.”
“Take a message.”
“They have called three times already sir. They said they have to speak with you. The call is from overseas……”
To be continued
